


Celtic challenge of murder ballads, song 1, part 7

by AzureAngel2



Series: “Down in the willow garden”, a series of Orson Krennic vignettes [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Planet Naboo (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:52:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: The Lake Country is a beautiful spot to be and even to pick flowers. But Orson Krennic faces a darkness he cannot deal with.Time frame of Story 7: The story takes place about 2 weeks after RotS (19 BBY).Planet of choice: NabooDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company





	Celtic challenge of murder ballads, song 1, part 7

**Story 7: “On the banks below”**

While you start landing procedures you cannot help to gaze at the rolling plains and grassy hills of Naboo in wonderment. It looks very much like Chandrila. There are even shaaks. The fat beasts are scattered all over the lake district, on the banks below. Instead of electrical fences, which would be the reasonable thing to make use of, streams hinder them to run away from their destiny. The slaughter house.

But Ina is not as mindless and gentle as a shaak. Of late she has shown bewildering characteristics and skills, that you were totally unaware of. There is no doubt about it that she is a true Palpatine. Not as cold-blooded as the Emperor, but certainly as manipulative and cunning.

Since you allowed Ina back into your solitary life, she plays you like a guitar string. But the worse thing is that you let her. The longer you are with her, the more you want to please her instead of making her cry. You are sick of fighting. So you simply have given up to argue with her and let her do things her way.

Not only did you visit the desert moon of Jedha with her, you paid a courtesy visit to her foster family on Chandrila and checked somebody out in the Wobani prison facility.

You try to figure out how she persuaded you to visit the mausoleum of Padmé Amidala, but your brain cannot process the events correctly.

You start pondering.

Then it all comes back to you in a tumble of sensory impressions. _“Oh shavit!”_

Ina almost cried a hole in the ground after you left Baydo Chasdy – Bay – behind with much better detention conditions.

Basically, you wanted to prove to Ina that the Galactic Empire of her uncle is but the Republic in a new, shiny coat. Mercy and justice are possible for those who deserve to live as humble citizens.

A pair of non-human eyes gazes at you from the backrest of Ina's seat.

Convorees definitely belong to a species that you are not fond of. That damned bird has a kind of intelligence that you regard as a direct threat to your claims on Ina. You are her chosen protector and not that bundle of fluffy feathers. If you were able to ram a stick into its throat, you will certainly use its dying body to dust the cockpit a bit.

The animal gives you an amused chortle and puffs itself up a bit.

“Please, Orson!” sighs Ina. “Stop giving Bathseba an evil eye!”

“As you wish, milady!” you purr, asking yourself not for the first time why the convor is called 'Daughter of the Oath' in one of the most ancient Galactic languages. Which oath? And, most important of all, whose daughter?

The yellow beak opens and closes as if the thing laughs at you soundlessly.

You force all your attention back on Ina. “Is this the right spot?” you ask her in a friendly tone.

She nods, too moved to speak.

“I will land on that rock plateau over there,” you suggest, knowing that she hates it when even the smallest plant gets harmed.

It occurs to you that the folk of Naboo has much in common with Alderaanians. But why Sheev Palpatine has sent his niece and her entire foster family into exile on Chandrila is a mystery for you.

Scanning her features a question comes to mind. “Fancy a picnic?”

Ina shakes her head and unfastens her seat belt. Her convor hops on her left shoulder, swinging its strange tail leisurely.

You follow both outside the ship.

The smell of grass and flowers sets something lose in you. Memories of your childhood come to mind, that contain only love and sunshine. Ina is linked to all of them.

The convor takes off with a gleeful sound.

Ina starts running towards the meadow that is surrounded by a set of stunning waterfalls. You watch her swirling around in happy circles, her arms stretched out wide. Her laughter fills you, making you feel whole.

When she is tired of her pirouettes, she plops down into the grass rather unceremoniously.

You step closer and see her doing the _Shavasana_ , the dead pose. This yogic posture is able to still a hyper active brain. It also helps to control thought process by gaining absolute control over one's breathing.

With a chuckle you get into the lotus seat position – _Padmasana_ – right next to her. “You do not seem in a great hurry to get to that grave site,” you comment, while gazing down on her.

Her closed eyes snap wide open. She seems somewhat hurt by your assumption. “I am already preparing myself mentally.”

“By lying in the grass like this.”

“We are never ready for Death, but it comes to all of us.”

“What a cheerful view on life,” you answer.

She closes her eyes again. “In the end we are all one with the Force, Orson Callan Krennic, even you.”

You blow a kiss on her brow, seeing the first lines that age has painted there. “You sound like my great-aunt Marjory. She lived with us in the community of Lexrul.”

This wins Nagina's immediate interest and she props herself up on her elbows. “You never talked to me about her before.”

You tick her nose. “And you never told me that you are a true Naboo, not only raised by Naboo fosters. Tit for tat.”

“Would it have mattered?”

“You kept a lot from me,” you consider.

“You were but eight years old when our ways separated for about twenty-five years.” Ina looks as flustered as her birdy friend can. “Besides, the entire story of my life is too painful.”

Within a heartbeat you tear her into your arms, holding her as solid as a rock. “Let me decide that!”

Her mouth drops in dissatisfaction. “I can still decide for myself, thank you. I do not need a white knight who fights all my battles for me.”

“And why the freck not?” You stifle a growl. “Ina, you deserve so much more than an uncle who is never there.”

“He tries his best.” Obvious scorn swings in her voice. “That is more than anyone can ever ask of from a Sith.”

There it is again, this maddening word: 'Sith'. It seems to be her favourite excuse for the Emperor all the time. As if his mystical religion has turned him into a kind of invalid that needs her pity. “Stop backing him up! He does not deserve you.”

“And you do?” She shakes her head. “I love whom I love. Get that into your stubborn head. You have no monopoly on my feelings.”

You let go of her, exhausted.

“Instead of making another one of your rants, help me to find some pretty meadow flowers!” She gets on her feet.

You run a hand over your tired eyes. “Would you rather not buy some more sophisticated flowers in a flower shop? White lilies? White roses?”

“Padmé Naberrie was of modest origins.” Her long lashes flicker. “Even though she was born in a little mountain village, the Lake Country meant a lot to her.”

You grimace.

Ina really thinks that she owes the dead senator something. As if Amidala is another victim of the Jedi purge.

“She might just be a politician hit by friendly fire, you know.”

She almost drops the flowers that she has gathered in so far. “Friendly fire? One of the most protected personalities on Coruscant?”

You take a deep, steadying breath. “General Grievous also got through to your uncle, did he not.”

Her facial colour is almost that of the field poppy she just picked. “Because Sheev allowed him to. The entire kidnapping was staged.”

You start to ask yourself if even holding a plant containing opiate is bad for her. “Staged,” you echo in disbelief.

There is no way to orchestrate such a dramatic event. It sounds like pure madness. Probabilistic risk assessment at such a scale was impossible. Not even the most skilled Dejarik player in the galaxy could have controlled his moves so adequately.

“If you only knew the power of the dark side,” she begins.

You get your stalwart blaster pistol out, showing it to her in a playful, non-threatening manner. “This is all that I need to know, Ina.”

“A laser gun? That is your equivalence for control?”

“I spent most of my teenage days with Force groupies going _'Om Shanti Om!'_ from dusk until dawn.”

She carefully comes closer and puts your blaster where it belongs to. “Your mother wanted to show you the beauty of creation, when she took you to her home world.”

“Beauty is in an explosion, Ina.” Your heart hammers as if you just ran a mile to get to her. “It is also found in the architectural style that the Emperor asked me to develop for his military complexes throughout the galaxy.”

Her lashes flutter over her wide, wounded eyes. “This is what you believe?”

“I believe in order, Ina. In conformity,” you tell her. “In my childhood there was much chaos. Only when you were around I was at peace.”

She drops her posy and hugs you hard. “But all your beautiful projects from earlier years.”

“Who needs romanticism after the Clone Wars? We need a new vision to follow. The future is not just build on dreams and pretty flowers. I am under no illusions about it.”

Her sobs flow into you like a rivulet towards a stream. There is so much water in her, so much compassion for others.

Shyly, you hug her back. Her gentleness is hard to bear for you. It leaves you helpless. Once more you made her cry.

“Hey, spare some tears for your Amidala!” you try to joke.

“I am sure he killed her,” she sniffs barely audible.

“Why would your uncle do that? She was his main ally in the senate for years.” You cradle her in your arms like a breakable piece of glass. “This makes no sense.”

“She was in the way,” she whispers. “Sheev wanted Skywalker. He wanted him all along. That he also died must anger him a lot. He would have been the perfect surrogate for Dooku.”

The things Ina says make no sense, but you let her talk.

“A Sith is not allowed to love either. It is but a beneficial emotion for their lot because it often leads to anger or hatred. Oh, how he much he wanted to fuel Skywalker's darker powers.”

Somehow you are under the impression that she is committing high treason right under your nose, but you know that the Emperor is very forgiving with her. And you are, too.

“I was seven years old when I started reading the Book of Sith.” More violent tears come forth. “It was so horrible, Orson. Extended indulgence in the dark side creates… creates a loss of humanity.”

You just wish you had none left either, because her wailing really gets to you.

“All morality, all empathy – they vanish and leave behind a being that is cruel and violent. Even a black hole shows more fairness when sucking you in.”

Fairness is overrated. But you will not tell Ina that. She is the sister you never had. The happy dot of colour in your life.

“Enough of the Sith,” you say. “I help you to get more pretty flowers and then we fly to Theed directly. The grave site is open for the public, but closes at sun set. I took the liberty to reserve tickets.”

“Tickets?” She is genuinely shocked about it.

“Her family wants to donate the money to refugee organisations here in the Outer Rim Territory.”

She nods to that. “Padmé would like that and Anakin, too.”

It is a bit far fetched that both have been lovers. But you trust Ina's instinct on that.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> The song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt  
> Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki  
> Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia


End file.
